The departure of the "Big Four" left the resort in a state of unnatural stillness. Without the clicking of high heels and the shouting of corporate orders, the only sound left was the rhythmic thump-hiss of Gary frantically applying double-sided tape to a fresh roll of neon-green rubber.
Chen Feng had spent the last hour in a trance of "productive procrastination." To avoid the terrifying prospect of a quiet conversation with Xia, he had transformed the hallway leading to the master suite into a high-friction obstacle course.
"More tape, Gary," Chen Feng muttered, his hands moving with the precision of a master calligrapher, though he was only laying down a "caution" strip.
"Boss, the floor is already so grippy that a cockroach couldn't walk across it without losing its boots," Gary panted, wiping sweat from his bowl cut. "Are we securing the perimeter, or are we just hiding from a five-foot-four high schooler?"
Chen Feng paused, a roll of rubber in his hand. He looked at the door to the suite. His mind was a battlefield. He remembered the weight of her in his arms, the flush of her skin, and the shattering realization of her innocence. For a man who had reset the world, he felt utterly unqualified to open that door.
"I'm securing the terrain," Chen Feng lied, his voice barely a whisper. "The Remnant... they move fast. Friction is their enemy."
Eventually, the silence became louder than the fear. Chen Feng stood before the mahogany doors. He took a deep breath, adjusted his floral shirt, and pushed.
The room was bathed in the silver glow of a Pacific moon. Lin Xia was sitting on the edge of the chaise lounge, wrapped in a plush white robe that made her look even smaller. When the door opened, she jumped, her face instantly turning the color of a ripe cherry.
"Chen Feng..." she squeaked. She tried to stand up, but her legs—still recovering from the overwhelming infusion of his essence—betrayed her. She stumbled forward.
In a flash, Chen Feng was there. No laziness, no hesitation. He caught her by the waist, his large hands steadying her. The contact was like an electric shock. They froze, locked in an embrace that was half-rescue, half-reminder of the previous night.
"Don't," Chen Feng said, his voice husky. "I told you. The floor is... well, the floor is actually very safe now, but you still shouldn't be walking."
"I can't just sit here," Xia whispered, her eyes fixed on his collarbone because looking at his face was too much. "I feel... different. Everything is too loud. My heart is too loud."
Chen Feng looked down at her. The awkwardness was a physical weight between them. He wanted to apologize; he wanted to explain that he was a thousand-year-old soul who should have known better. But he also saw the way she was looking at him—not with regret, but with a terrifying, blossoming devotion.
"Xia," he started, his hand lingering on her shoulder. "About what happened... and the fact that you... I didn't know."
"I'm not sorry," she interrupted, her voice tiny but firm. She finally looked up, her eyes shimmering. "I'm just... I'm just scared that for you, it was just the drink. That I'm just another 'annoyance' you had to deal with."
Chen Feng felt a pang in his chest that no seismic wave could cause. He reached up, his thumb grazing her cheek. "You've never been just an annoyance, Xia. That's the problem."
Outside, in the moonlit gardens, the High-Level Remnant moved. They were a shadow, a blur of motion that defied the laws of momentum. They leaped from a palm tree onto the balcony, intending to slide through the open glass doors at terminal velocity.
However, the Remnant had not accounted for the Sovereign's Shamelessness.
As their feet hit the balcony floor, they didn't slide. They stopped. The specialized anti-slip mats, applied with divine precision, gripped the Remnant's soles with the force of a thousand suns.
THUD. The assassin's momentum had nowhere to go. Their body whipped forward while their feet stayed glued to the rubber.
SNAP. The Remnant face-planted into a "Caution: Wet Floor" sign with a sound like a wet towel hitting a sidewalk.
Inside the room, Chen Feng didn't even turn around. He just pulled Xia a little closer, his eyes narrowing as he sensed the clumsy energy outside.
"Gary," Chen Feng called out, his voice calm but lethal.
"On it, Boss!" Gary's voice echoed from the hallway, followed by the sound of a heavy fire extinguisher being discharged. "Eat industrial-grade foam, you ancient creep!"
The Remnant, currently struggling to peel their shoes off the neon-green mat, was suddenly engulfed in a cloud of white chemical suppressant.
Chen Feng looked back at Xia, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The awkwardness was still there, but as they stood in the moonlight—surrounded by rubber mats and the sound of Gary shouting at an assassin—the "Salted Fish" finally felt at home.